


Scars

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:36:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Jess/Sam/Dean: If things had been a little different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

Sam had been with Jess for almost two years, and it was, she was fine. Not fine as in okay, but fine like fiiiiinnnne. She was beautiful and built. Even Dean would be ~~jealous~~ envious provided he knew, which he didn’t because they hadn’t seen each other since Sam got on the Greyhound to Palo Alto. But, anyway, Jess was more than beautiful, she was smart and funny and kept Sam on his toes. She wasn’t wild, but she was full of fun.

He loved her light and her optimism. Sometimes he could even fool himself into believing the world was the way she saw it. He loved her, and he loved his friends, and if he didn’t think too much about the past, he could convince himself the world was really more sunshine than darkness. More flowers and smiles than blood and fangs.

_And it’s dark except for brief flashes of light from somewhere, and he’s running and it, whatever it is, is chasing him, and his breath is raw in his throat, and somewhere Dean is screaming his name, and he’s clawing his way through a door, and he can feel its hot breath on his neck, it’s stench pours over him …_

And he jerked upright with the sheets wrapped around his legs and his breath coming in gulps.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Jess was rubbing his back and his shoulder twitched, but he prevented himself from jerking away from her.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said.

He crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom. He shut the door and leaned over the sink. His blood was still rushing in his ears, and his muscles were shaking with adrenaline. He splashed water on his face. He’d had nightmares his whole life. Except when he was younger, they were a minor nuisance – something that his big brother chased away with little effort. When he and Dean had slept together, Sam couldn’t remember ever having a nightmare. Since leaving for Stanford, they’d gotten worse. Jess didn’t say so, but she had to have noticed they were more frequent even if she didn’t know they were more frightening.

He splashed water on his face and went back to bed.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry I woke you.”

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“What are they about?”

He shook his head. “Can’t remember.”

“Hmm.”

The next morning couldn’t be more different with the sunshine pouring in the window onto Jess’ golden hair as she rode him. God, she was beautiful. This had to be close to heaven, he thought. He was deep inside her and the weight of her breasts in his hands. Thumbs rubbing over her nipples. She threw her head back and moaned, fingernails scraping over his belly. He thrust up into her as she came, back arching, fingernails digging, but he didn’t mind because he lost it too. His hips lifted them both off the bed. He groaned, and she collapsed on his chest with a laugh.

“Like riding a steer.”

“What?”

She blushed. “I mean … you know, big and strong.”

“Right. Let’s pretend you didn’t say that.”

She laughed again and settled on his chest. Her finger was tracing along his arm.

“What’s this from?” Her finger was moving back and forth over a small scar. His mind flashed to the day Dean cut him there. They’d found a couple pieces of metal in a closet of the rental house they were living in. They were the kind of metal strips used to hold down carpeting in doorways. They’d wrapped duct tape around one end of each and used them like swords. It was raining outside, and they’d run through the house, jumping on and over furniture, the metal slats clanging against one another. Both of them laughing and breathless. He couldn’t remember if they were playing pirate or jedi or just sparring, but Dean had finally nailed Sam in the upper arm with one.

Of course, Dean had told him not to be a baby, and he’d doctored him up, but Sam couldn’t quit picking at the scab. “Sam, if you don’t quit picking at that, it’s gonna scar.” Yep, Dean was right. It had.

“Just my brother and me goofing around.”

“What about this one?” She traced a four-inch scar across his left side. He slid her off of him and stood up. “Sam?”

“Car accident.”

He pulled jeans and a t-shirt on.

“Oh, yeah, the car accident,” she said.

He knew she didn’t believe him. He had a lot of scars. Weird scars. Scars that didn’t make sense. She thought he was abused, but she never actually said. So he couldn’t deny it without suggesting it. He slammed the dresser drawer shut.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’ve got to get to class.”

“Sam.” Jess followed him.

He knew what he was doing, but couldn’t help it. Dean used to call it bitchface. Sam went into the living room and started stuffing his books into his backpack.

“Sam, hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. If you want to talk, I’m here. You know that.”

Sam dropped his backpack and faced her. “Talk about what, Jess? Huh? What is it you want to know? Just ask.”

She just looked at him a minute. “Okay, tell me about your family.”

He swallowed. Well, that was a mistake. “Okay. Okay, my mom’s dead, my dad’s a drunk, and my brother’s a delinquent. Is that enough for now?”

“Sam.”

He picked up his backpack and slammed out of the apartment.

***

“So two kegs or three?” Mike asked again as though this was a major decision.

“Dude, I told you three. If we don’t drink it all Friday, we still have until 2 p.m. on Saturday to return it,” said Brett.

Sam was sitting with the guys at a table in the commons, but paying as little attention as possible to the conversation. Sometimes, it amazed him that college guys made Dean’s discussions of porn seem like Nobel winning theories.

Even when his friends were being serious sometimes Sam just wondered … well, would he ever get over seeing people, ordinary people, civilians as, well, that was part of the problem, right there. He still saw them as civilians – naïve and kind of pathetic – a herd of gazelle surrounded by lions. And did he ever really want to be one of them?

“So okay, can you and Stew pick up the kegs in his truck?” Mike asked Brett.

“No, dude, he went home for the weekend …”

Suddenly, Sam sat up straight, looking toward the street. It couldn’t be. It was long and black with a lot of chrome, but no…

“Sam. Sam? Dude, wake up.”

“I don’t have a truck.”

“What? No, dude, Atticus can pick up the kegs. I was just making sure you’re going to be there. You are right? You aren’t going to make up some lame ass excuse about studying, right?”

“Right. I’ll be there.” He glanced over at the street again but didn’t see a thing built before 1985.

***

There was a dreamlike quality to it. From the moment he awoke knowing someone was in the apartment to the moment Jess turned the light on. It didn’t seem real, and yet it was so clear,  almost surreal. His heart was pounding, and he was alert and alive. He knew his body was flooded with adrenaline, and it was little like a drug addict falling off the wagon. It was a feeling so familiar and so thrilling. Every nerve was on alert, his hearing attuned to every sound, his sight picking out every variation of gray.

People had break-ins around campus all the time, but he knew this was different. This wasn’t someone after cash and iPods. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. But as soon as he grabbed the dark figure … He hadn’t known who it was, had he? Because it was familiar. Why wouldn’t it be? How many times had they sparred just like that? Probably, hundreds of times.

But it wasn’t until he heard the voice, _Whoa, slow down, tiger,_ that the weight across his hips and the hands on his arms had a name.

“Dean? You scared the crap out of me.” And he was a little mad then, and he’d flipped them. Ha, not so out of practice. And there in the dark, what are you doing here? _Just looking for a beer_. His hand on his brother’s arm, and then the light coming on.

Jess. Beautiful and sexy. She didn’t get it. Dean’s whole _I love Smurfs_ and _you’re way out of my brother’s league_. It came across as flirting, a cheap come on. But Sam got it. Dean wasn’t so much flirting with Jess, as he was covering his discomfort at Sam’s domestic situation. And Sam actually felt a little guilty because while he was going to college and playing house with Jess, Dean was still out there fighting the good, or if not good, the bloody and just fight.

For the first time, Sam felt a little like a coward.

So he’d gone with Dean, and they’d gotten rid of the Woman in White, but they hadn’t found Dad. Sam insisted on going home. He could feel Dean’s disappointment. And now they were in front of Sam’s apartment building, and he leaned in the window of the Impala saying goodbye to his brother again. And there was a fist around his heart as he started to walk away.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Yeah.”

“We made a pretty good team back there.”

“Yeah, we did.”

He started to turn away, but stopped.

“Hey, you never got that beer,” Sam said.

Dean grinned and turned off the car.

Jess was asleep. Sam pulled the bedroom door shut and went back into the kitchen where he’d left Dean nursing a beer. They sat down at the kitchen table with a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa.

“So, you really haven’t told me what I’ve missed,” Sam said.

“Aagh, you know, it probably would be as interesting to you as history exams and term papers would be to me.”

“Is that what you think? Really?”

Dean shrugged.

“Dean, don’t you ever get tired of being afraid?”

He shrugged again and finished chewing. “It’s part of the job, Sam. You know that.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I do. That’s just it.”

Dean took a long drink of beer. “So how are the nightmares?”

“I don’t have them anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bull true.”

“Sam.” Dean sighed. “Fine, whatever.”

“How did you know?”

“Because you’ve always had them and because fear doesn’t come from outside, Sam. I comes from inside.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You been taking psych classes?”

“Fuck you. If there’s one thing I don’t need an education in, it’s scary shit.”

Sam laughed. “Scary Shit 101. Yeah, you could teach that.”

Dean chuckled. “No doubt.” He drained his beer.

“Another?”

Dean nodded. “Anyway, my point was you can’t run away from being scared. You know what’s out there, Sam. You can’t un-know it or whatever.”

“No, I know that.” He set two fresh beers on the table. “But I also don’t have to run around chasing the scary shit.”

“But it chases you in your dreams anyway, doesn’t it.”

“They’re just dreams.”

“Yeah, yeah. They are. Do they bother her?” Dean tipped his head in the direction of the bedroom.

“She’s getting used to them.”

Dean grimaced. “You tell her what they’re about?”

“No.”

“So if she … I mean, her being there with you, it doesn’t help.”

“She wakes me up.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

Dean started to pick the label off his beer.

“Sam, about Dad …”

“Don’t.”

“He worried about you here by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself.”

“You know what I mean, Sam. With civilians.”

“Dean, they aren’t civilians. We aren’t soldiers. There is no war.” He said, but he was pretty sure he didn’t completely mean it. He called them civilians himself the other day. He did it in his mind all the time.

Dean just sat and glared at him like he was going to smack him. There was a time when he would have.

Sam’s cell phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at it, and turned it off.

“Who calls at …” Dean looked at his watch. “3 a.m.?”

“Mike. I missed a party on Friday that I’d promised I’d go to.”

“Seriously?”

Sam grinned sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you just tell them that you were with your brother vanquishing vengeful spirits?”

“That would shut him up,” Sam replied.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Sam nodded and yawned.

“I should hit the road,” Dean said and drained his beer.

Sam really didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want Dean to leave. Not yet. They could sit here awhile longer, right? But he couldn’t think of how.

Dean started toward the door, but Sam stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Dean, why’d you do it?”

“What? Do what, Sam?”

“Why did you just let me leave? Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why … you wanted to leave.”

Sam felt something so painful, so sharp well up in his chest. “No, I wanted you to want me to stay.”

Something shifted in Dean’s eyes. “Jesus, Sam …”

“You pushed me away, Dean. I just wanted you to, to …” He didn’t know how to say it. He was still gripping Dean’s upper arm, and he leaned in and kissed his brother. He shoved Dean against the wall, and Sam’s heart hammered in his chest at the first touch of his brother’s mouth. His lips were so soft, so unlike Dean. Sam sucked and licked at them. He pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth, across his slick, twisting tongue. And yeah, it tasted just like his – of beer and corn chips and salsa. And it was amazing. Sam slid his other hand under Dean’s shirt and jacket, over his bare back, caressing the muscles and scars. Sam pushed his thigh between Dean’s legs and, yeah, Dean was happy to see him.

Dean grabbed Sam’s hips and pulled them together. His hips rocked against Sam. He rubbed his crotch over Sam’s thigh. A low moan built in Dean’s chest. This was what Sam had wanted, what he’d needed from Dean. Well, not all, but the start of it. Sam wanted more, wanted all of Dean.

“Sam?”

Jess stood there in the hall with arms crossed over her stomach, and he was frozen. He could feel Dean’s breath hot on his neck. His hands weren’t releasing one bit of pressure on Sam’s hips. Was he looking at Jess? Did he have that smug look on his face like when he’d won or was he hiding his face in shame?

Dean and Jess were both waiting for Sam to say or do something. He wanted to go to Jess, but he couldn’t seem to let go of Dean. Not again.

“I think, you should go,” Jess said.

Sam took a half step away from Dean.

“Jess, wait.”

“You can come by tomorrow and get your stuff.” She turned and went back into the bedroom.

Sam raised a hand toward her retreating back and then let it drop. Dean turned him toward the door.

“Sam, come on. Let her alone for now. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Dean, she’s throwing me out.”

Dean frowned a little. “Sam, what do you want here?”

“I …” He stopped in confusion. “I did this. I made a choice.”

Dean just nodded. His gaze was steady, but Sam saw a hint of fear.

“You want me to stay with you, Dean?”

 “Yeah, no more nightmares, Sammy.”

***

Jess didn’t burn on the ceiling. She chalked her relationship with Sam up to experience. She married a doctor, and they live in Santa Barbara with their pre-school daughter. She never told anyone about that night.

When she thinks of Sam, she thinks of a sweet, damaged guy who had everyone fooled.  
  
 _The end -- please leave feedback._

 


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